


Three Continents Strikes Again

by LadyGrimReaper



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF John Watson, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Community: sherlockbbc_fic, Demonstrative John, Food Kink, Food Sex, Hot Sex, John "Three Continents" Watson, John Experiments on Sherlock, Kink Meme, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Public Nudity, Public Sex, Sherlock naked on a table
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:51:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGrimReaper/pseuds/LadyGrimReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A filled prompt: Click <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21697.html?thread=126254529#t126254529">Here</a>.</p>
<p>Sherlock wants to know why John's army mates call him Three Continents. John proceeds to show him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Continents Strikes Again

A loud roar of approval filled the room as John Watson slammed back a shot.

 

"Hey mates! This lanky gentleman over here is the roommate of our dear Watson and wonders why we call him TC!"

 

Several hoots and hollers answered his call, responding with things like:

 

"Continental Express!"

 

"No no! He should do Dr. Little Death"

 

"Oh hell I remember when he did that to me, I fucking couldn't walk straight for a damn week man. But on the other hand, I did bring a DLD kit just in case you felt like doing it to me again."

 

Loud jeers and catcalls rang through the pub in the direction of the man that just spoke.

 

"Three C Wrenched!"

 

"He'll no. No one’s ready for that one you git! Holmes wouldn't walk out of here alive."

 

Sherlock was trying to deeply analyze his flatmate. He had sexual relationships with men too? Bisexual then. How did he not see this?!

 

“Language Barrier Breaker!" A woman shouted out, or rather slurred.

 

Several people groaned at that one.

 

"Anyone remember that chick that spoke like ten god damn languages?"

 

"Remember??? How could I bloody forget her screamed gibberish? It was my bloody tent and I couldn't sleep damn it. She had to have gotten off once per language. Lucky little cunt.” A woman bit out.

 

Throughout the entire conversation John was blushing to the roots of his hair, rubbing at his neck and trying to hide behind his beer. Sherlock was staring at him. Hard. He had missed something about his friend this big and trying to find out how he John hid this from him. 

 

"What's something for a beginner?!"

 

“French Lingua?”

 

“Englishman Enraptured?”

 

Several catcalls were thrown towards the blushing woman that called this out.

 

“Mission: Dry As The Sahara?” John choked on his drink.

 

"John Watson: Deluxe Edition.”

 

“Oh you know good and damn well that we do not have time for that one. Plus we can’t sully this bar too much! We just rented it for today.”

 

John was tomato red, his head buried into his arms. A finger of bourbon appeared before his hand and he hurriedly knocked it back and slammed his glass on the bar.

 

The bar went silent as everyone’s eyes turned on him, anticipating clear on their faces. “ FINE. Continental Express.”

 

John turned to Sherlock and whispered. “Are you sure you want me to do this in front of the entire pub?”  
Sherlock finished his drink and raised an eyebrow. “I want to find out why they call you 'Three Continents Watson'.”

 

Loud, thunderous cheers erupted from the mass.

 

“Can I get an order of sushi?!”

 

A couple of guys surrounded Sherlock and nudged him to take everything off. Having no shame, he stoically stripped to nude and followed the directions to lie on the table on his back. A bundled up shirt supported his neck and head.

 

John Watson himself was ordering another drink while watching as his gorgeous flat mate let himself be talked into doing this. Jesus he was long. Everywhere. John heard a few women and some men whisper to themselves about how “hung” Sherlock was. John really could not believe that the pub was allowing sex to happen on one of their tables.

 

The blonde looked through the crowd at his friends and saw the owners peeking out from their office. Oh, well they're getting a free show then.

 

As Sherlock was prepared, John saw a lot of mobiles out set to picture taking and recording and he groaned to himself. He was not drunk enough to do this shit at all...

 

After receiving a fresh drink, one with ice this time, he made his way over to Sherlock, and the crowd parts for him. His Captain John Watson stance and posture returns full force and he takes his position at the front of the table.

 

He takes a sip of his drink, eying Sherlock’s spread out body with interest: Covering each nipple was a piece of sushi with a dribble of soy sauce surrounding each. For supper, there were dribbles of curry with small piles of rice scattered around his stomach. He's never eaten curry from a Continental Express. And for desert, covering a quite delicious looking cock, was whipped cream, chocolate sauce and a cherry on top. So they wanted a cherry stem tying demonstration too. And they piled enough cream on his cock to stop it from flinging it off if Sherlock twitched or throbbed.

 

“What a mess you’ve gotten yourself into, soldier.” As corny as it was, there was always some type of positive feedback. Sherlock was no different; his pupils enlarged and his breathing became heavier. He couldn’t move much, due to the food though.

 

John walked around the table, shoulders back and head held high. “ Do you know what happens to soldiers who don’t keep a clean environment?”

 

He places his glass right by Sherlock’s cheek and leans over him, staring him straight in the eye.

 

The pub was extremely quiet, so everyone could here him whisper. “They get punished, soldier. Now seeing as I’m a nice captain and a nice man, you get off easy.”

 

There were a couple of giggles at the “get off” part.

 

“Very well, I need help. I’m hungry and you’ll serve as my plate.” He gave a completely mischievous leer at Sherlock. “And my dinner and desert. Lock the doors! ” Captain John Watson, M.D. of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers of the barked. Barely a rasp of movement, and the door clicked shut and firmly locked. Not a sound was made.

 

John moved down to slowly pick up a piece of sushi. With his mouth.  
He made sure to roll his tongue in the soy sauce and then fed half of the sushi to Sherlock with a deep, messy kiss.

 

Sherlock emitted a soft little noise deep in his throat, hungrily attacking John’s lips and doing his best to quickly eat and swallow before attacking his doctor’s lips again.

 

However, John had already pulled away and was now cleaning up the soy sauce around the bare nipple, sucking and licking until it was clean and glistening. He repeated this procedure for the other piece of sushi on Sherlock's other nipple. He took a sip of his drink, dug an ice cube out and slid it into his mouth.

 

Someone behind him in the crowd was muttering. “Oh god, oh fuck, it’s the ice cube.”

 

He took it out of his mouth and set it on one of Sherlock's nipples while sucking the other straight into his mouth. The dark-haired man underneath him mewled with shock, body thrashing from the assault on a sensitive body part.

 

A hush filled the room as John licked up the ice cube from Sherlock's nipple and began torturing the tightened pebbles with his icy tongue, lips, and hands.

 

Sherlock was minutely twitching, soft groans falling from those bow lips with eyes clenched shut and head thrown back against the table.

 

When groans turned into high-pitched whimpers, John stopped the assault and sucked the ice cube back into his mouth. Setting his hands on either side of Sherlock's head he allowed the ice cold water that melted from the ice cube drip into Sherlock's eager mouth. The taller man's face was flushed; his eyes were glassy; and his face was covered with a soft sheen of sweat.

 

John made sure to keep eye contact with Sherlock as he unleashed the ice cube a little, so it fit neatly between his lips and teased it gently over those gorgeous lips.

 

He heard a faint whimper from behind him.  
Sherlock regaining some strength of mind, daringly locked lips with the doctor and stole the ice cube from him. His eyes glinted with a challenge as he boldly chewed on the ice cube.

 

John only raised a calm eyebrow, moving from above Sherlock to standing around the table, surveying the rest of his dinner. He made sure to let the heat of his gaze run from the curls on the top of Sherlock's head down to his long, fine toes.

 

He took a sip of his drink, his tongue playing with the rim of his glass as he looked his fill.  
Getting right back to it, he dropped down to Sherlock's abdomen and kitten licked the sauce into his mouth.

 

“ Dear fucking God, that is the hottest thing I fucking ever saw.” An American colleague muttered, a bit loudly.

 

He used teeth to pick up the rice in his mouth, letting them gently scrape against Sherlock's skin. If his teeth stayed in one spot, and that spot happened to flush a darker colour than the surrounding skin, then so be it. He was clearly good at making hickies.

 

Sherlock had started to gasp for breath. And John stretched out the torture for as long as he could, slowly eating and licking up the delicious curry. It had a nice flavour that was purely Sherlock.

 

John paused to press one very soft kiss to Sherlock's lips, and then continued onto desert.

 

“Oh fuck, this is the best part.” Someone whimpered, and there were a few cleared throats and shifting of denim heard.

 

John lowered his head and licked the cherry into his mouth. Again, he perched himself above Sherlock, his tongue working the stem furiously and dexterously.

 

“That fucking tongue, gah!” A man whimpered in the background.

 

He leaned down and pressed the cherry stem to bow of Sherlock's lips with his tongue, and then returned to his original position between Sherlock's spread legs.

 

Above him, Sherlock's eyes had widened to comical proportions and his body gave a spine rattling shudder. He realized there was a bloody knot in the cherry stem.

 

John approached this next task with caution. Sherlock's prick was pressed to his abdomen with a mountain of whipped cream holding it down and pasting it there. Ah. He knew where to begin.

 

He stepped away, taking a sip of his drink again and smirking at his mates before spreading Sherlock's legs and stepping between them.

 

Somebody whimpered.

 

He allowed himself to dirty one finger and pressed his thumb into the sweet mess and held onto the gorgeous cock while attacking it's base with tongue, lips and mouth. He made sure to suck and kiss the flushed skin that was beginning to reappear and Sherlock was gasping his name. John felt his thighs tense and relax over and over again from between them.

 

He moved his head a little bit and started sucking and licking on the skin of his abdomen, concentrating on making him squeaky clean.

 

Sherlock's entire body was twitching occasionally, though his groans were getting a bit louder and a touch more occasional.

 

Then he moved his head to the other side of the cock and started cleaning there.

 

“Pure. Torture.” Somebody whispered sympathetically. Actually it was American Morgan Fields, a man that got the same exact treatment years ago. So he does have an idea of how keyed up Sherlock must feel.

 

John cleans his slow, meticulous way down to Sherlock's balls and adjusts his legs to be able to get in there nice and deep.

 

Morgan whimpers. “ My balls were incredibly sensitive ever since...”

 

“Ssshhhhhhhhh!” Someone hissed, trying to pay attention, as well as try not to put their hands down their trousers.

 

John rose back up to meet Sherlock’s lips, sharing the taste of the sweet concoction and the masculinity that was Sherlock himself. 

 

After pulling away with the most hair-raising, erection causing, hot, wet sound, John dove into sucking a hickey on Sherlock’s scrotum. There was a trail of chocolate smeared just right and he wanted to make sure that the skin wouldn’t be sticky afterward.

 

That meant to the ladies and gentlemen watching that Sherlock was withering against the table because John was paying special attention in his cleaning. Very special attention.

 

His tongue dipped and swabbed and licked and teased at his perineum. The closer the tongue got to Sherlock’s perfect little hole, the louder and more thrashing Sherlock got.

 

There were murmurs of sympathy from the crowd, and keens from those that had highly imaginative minds through visual stimulation. Basically everyone.

 

And then that tongue and mouth of one John Watson started digging into Sherlock's arse. Sherlock's normally rich baritone was a squeaky mewling thing as John tongue fucked him to a shivering, sobbing, shaking mess.  
John pulled away with a loud, wet, crude sound, and gently pressed a finger into the tight sphincter. He hunched his shoulders to hover above Sherlock's beautiful cock. The shaft was jerking from side to side with each heaving breath. As the blonde sank a second finger into Sherlock, he enveloped the head into his mouth, expertly and enthusiastically sucking on just the head.

 

The two fingers were gently seeking out the prostate, and as a doctor, John only took a few seconds to locate the nub. He starts to caress it softly simultaneously lowering his lips down the erect flesh.  
Sherlock was clenching at the table, hips uncontrollably thrusting minutely into John's sucking, legs trembling, head thrust back, and breathing unmanageable. 

 

John drew back to chuckle at him, and grabbed a leg to throw over his shoulder, and he went right back to down, licking and mouthing his way up and down the cock and making noises of enjoyment as he did so.

 

He was so completely focused on Sherlock that he took no large notice of his own discomfort. ( Though he did unzip and unbutton.)

 

Pity he didn't have the finger vibrator for this part of the show. He'd have Sherlock screaming for mercy.  
Someone tapped on his shoulder and he took his time pulling away from the beautiful cock with a smack of lips and string of saliva-cum.

 

A brand new three speed bullet was pressed into his hands and he grinned ferociously at the giver. The female gasped sharply stepping back with shivers running up and down her spine. The good kind. As John turned back towards Sherlock, slipping a finger free to assemble the little thing, the female swooned against her friend, breathing hard. 

 

She thought that if she were the receiver of that grin, she wouldn't plan on being able to walk for the next few days at least. She had definitely caught an eyeful of John Watson's trousers. The poor man was strangling himself in that small of space.

 

While this transaction happened, Sherlock was beginning to sweat; his long legs were noticeably shaking. His long feet were propped on the edge of the table with his knees up and there were small droplets of food surrounding him. 

John pressed the finger vibrator into Sherlock's arse slowly, along with another finger. He sought the prostate with the unadorned finger and gently pressed the toy to it with the other.

 

With his other hand, the one with the controller, he turned it on to first speed and Sherlock did indeed scream. His voice broke over the sound and his feet slipped and slid on the table. John had to duck under a leg and pin his waist down with the controller arm.

 

Perfect. The gorgeous prick was within range, flushed, heavy, and leaking copiously. He licked his lips, and took a hold of the glans into his mouth, then descended down to as much as he could put into his mouth without choking.

 

Sherlock's keening shot up an octave; his trembling turned to full out shaking.  
His finger switched to second speed. The finger with the vibrator massaged directly on the prostate, the circumference of the prostate, the diameter of the prostate, everywhere.

 

The taller man was babbling at this point.

 

Sherlock _never_ babbled. He ranted and raved, yes. But he did not babble.  
And it was music to John's ears.

 

The vibrator was switched to maximum level and Sherlock's body thrashed against the table.

 

Sherlock screeched. “ JOHN! JOHN! FUCK. I'M GOING TO COME. I'M GOING TO COME. I'M GOING TO COME!”  
John's sucking increased in intensity and speed, and he felt long fingers dig into his hair and press his nose to a shaved pubic bone as the cock in his mouth and down his throat throbbed and then erupted into his mouth. He choked around the come, allowing it to fill his mouth and sloppily drip out onto Sherlock's balls.  
The long legs were tensing and jerking with the power of the orgasm; Sherlock was almost bent double, holding John's head still, and roaring, yes _roaring_ his orgasm. An orgasm that lasted several minutes; the cock pulsating several times, the last of those times with no semen erupting from the urethra. 

 

The vibrator was turned down to first speed, the finger very gently caressing around the prostate and not directly on it. 

 

Sherlock flopped back onto the table with a loud sigh, and was still.

A silence filled the pub and then everybody started moving.

 

“ OH shit, he passed the fuck out!”

 

“ Oh Jesus, is he okay?!”

 

Several people were crowding and murmuring in concern.

 

Captain John Hamish Watson, M.D. Made his appearance once more. He started barking orders, while pulling his fingers from Sherlock's arse.

 

“ SQUAD: ATTEN-TION!!!!!!!!!!!” He barked and every single person quieted and fell into attention, whether they were actual military or not. 

 

“Get me some water and something with sugar in it! Lots of sugar in it! And back up! Give me some space, damn it.” 

 

His mates were eager to get his things and he had several cups of ice water within reach.

 

He took one and leaned over Sherlock, carefully slapping his cheek. “ Come on Sherlock, wake up. Sherlock?” The man wasn't rousing and so John threw the water into his face; he was a safe distance away from him.  
Sherlock flew upward, almost upending the table and falling, yet John caught him around the waist and let the glasses crash to the floor.

 

He was breathing heavily, stock still. “ What..? Did.. I..?” His voice was hoarse, body slightly hunched with a hand clenched onto John's arm.

 

John chuckled, accepting a bottle of fruit punch from someone. “Yes, Sherlock, you passed out. Drink this, sit, and eat something sweet. Yes, eat.” He led the naked man to another table and set the fruit punch in front of him. Another person set a box of chocolates in front of him. 

 

“Thanks guys.”

 

“I'm okay, John. No need to baby me.” He mumbled through a mouthful of the chocolate. 

 

John just giggled; he placed a gentle hand underneath Sherlock's chin and brought his face upward so he could lean down and attach his lips to those plush ones of the other man. He moaned into the kiss, attacking his mouth with his tongue and seeking out the chocolate and stealing it from him.  
Sherlock was groaning into John's lips, eyes fluttering shut. 

 

A couple of wolf whistles sounded around them, and John pulled back to complete the chewing of the chocolate.  
Sherlock was staring at his lips, face flushed and eyes half lidded, panting for breath.

 

A pile of clothes had appeared on the table besides them, very quietly: No one had wanted to interrupt that soul-searing kiss. 

 

John whispers: “And that's why I'm called Three Continents, Sherlock Holmes.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I did John Three C Watson justice with this. I enjoyed writing this fic a lot. A. Lot. :)


End file.
